The weekend and thinking of nothing

Another lazy weekend, just nothing, another way of saying “it was as boring as bat shit”. Yes, it is the weekend and thinking of nothing. Nothing stirring at all, not in the hall, nothing saw no more. The nothing was looking at itself with a sad refrain. Nothing watched and allowed itself to sit. The nothing was worried that no-one cared. It didn’t need to worry, people were less likely to care for nothing, be a good for nothing. They’d try to be something.

The weekend didn’t really know why it was so boring. The two days clearly marked in the “first world” as two days of rest, just got on with itself and waited until it’s turn was over. Monday could wake up and annoy the shit out of all those that enjoyed the weekend. The days of joy and carefree abandonment slipped by as they always did, except this weekend was boring. The weekend looked at itself on Sunday night and like nothing, it was sad.

Things that aren’t alive don’t normally have self awareness. The weekend and nothing were both very different this particular week. They had suddenly realised that they were aware. Both thought and pondered their existence and deliberated on what that meant. To those that are alive it varies. Swapping between sheer wild excitement to rounded out blandness. People whooped and jollied about in different ways, but they all thought that some else was having a better time. They were all correct because everyone’s “better” is different to everyone else.

This grey distinction clouded the minds of those who’d applied such deep thoughts to their own lives. Such deep self reflection often ruined their weekends, but to many it helped to justify the alcohol consumption. Booze, drugs, sex crazed adventures numbed the conclusion.

The weekend was often very boring. Monday waited and planned it’s response to the wasted weekends. It thought very carefully this week – because it had never thought before.

“What would nothing or the weekend know about about thinking?” .. Sarah sat in on the lecture wondering what the fuck this bloke was on about. These first lectures sadly at 8.00 on a Monday were always such a pain in the arse. Today’s was just plain weird.

“This thinking must be examined” .. exclaimed the dreary old lecturer. He stank of a weekend of excess and stumbled about like he was living hangover in the range of 10 out of 10.

10 being; smelling like crap and staggering about dribbling silly nonsense. This philosophical question of nothing and the weekend reflecting on their existence was really stretching the aim of the course content. It was after all supposed to be about Human Anatomy.

This dickhead lecturer also taught ( that word used in the most complimentary way ) philosophy and whilst stinking like a mens urinal ( without a sweet cake ) he’d set up the wrong lecture. The slide show slid by and the waffling waved on by like a tide of sewage leaking from the University’s 300 seater toilet block.

Sarah wondered how it was that she’d deserved getting out of bed and driving for an hour for this dross. She was often the first to these lectures and even sometimes keen to stand up for the standard of professional teaching offered by this University. Her studies had 6 months to go.

Maybe she’d try to be something, really something – of course this lecture wouldn’t help her at all. She wished it was the weekend and began to think, think of nothing really. Just think.